


Wedding Day

by Thysanotus



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Drama, Marauders' Era, The Quidditch Pitch: School Days
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-11-25
Updated: 2005-11-25
Packaged: 2018-10-27 07:32:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10804683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thysanotus/pseuds/Thysanotus
Summary: It's someone's wedding day.





	Wedding Day

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

  
Author's notes: Thankyou so much to bookofjude for the mirror-breaking spell and for prereading. Thanks for pre-reading and encouraging during my fits of wibbling go to [](http://www.livejournal.com/userinfo.bml?user=xylodemon)[**xylodemon**](http://www.livejournal.com/users/xylodemon/) and [](http://www.livejournal.com/userinfo.bml?user=darkasphodel)[](http://www.livejournal.com/users/darkasphodel/)**darkasphodel**. The stanzas of poetry that inspired this fic are from Seamus Heaney's poem "Wedding Day," and I highly, highly encourage you all to go and read more of his work.  


* * *

_I am afraid.  
Sound has stopped in the day  
And the images reel over  
And over. Why all these tears,_  
  
James clenches his fingers around the white porcelain washbasin, watching his knuckles flatten and whiten with the strain. The crisp early morning air is fresh in his nostrils, and somewhere in the back of his mind, a stag lowers its antlers to charge.  
  
Water drips from the tap arrhythmically _plink_ as he looks at his red-eyed reflection _plink_. He can’t back out of it now, much as the light and the stone around him is reminding him of waking tangled in cotton sheets, breathing the musky odour of sex.  
  
Brightness of sunshine, the wind on his face, drying the tears to scratchy lines of salt on his cheeks as he soars _plink_ among the clouds. He thinks it’s funny. He only feels _plink_ connected to the earth when he is in the sky.  
  
The suit is oddly constricting after so many years in robes, and he swings his _plink_ arms, trying to settle the jacket _plink_ onto his shoulders. The light glares into his eyes from the mirror, and he picks up his wand from the vanity.  
  
 _plink_  
  
 _”Quaseo.”_  
  
As James leaves the room, the first shard from the mirror falls into the basin.  
  
 _The wild grief on his face  
Outside the taxi? The sap  
Of mourning rises  
In our waving guests._  
  
James curls his fingers around Lily’s, her nails cutting into the back of his hand until he is sure that his blood is running freely. The waving, cheering crowd of friends and relatives mob the pavement outside the quiet church, and a torrent of rice hits him on one cheek.  
  
Each grain hits the pavement with a scattering whisper, as James glances at Sirius, bouncing from foot to foot in glee. Remus is looking solemn behind him, and Peter’s nose is twitching as he eyes Petunia’s cleavage. It’s too late now, as Lily smiles through her tears, her father clicking off roll after roll of film, her mother sniffing into a handkerchief.  
  
As the rainstreaked door of the black taxi latches behind them, as the waving crowd blurs into a misty fog of pale faces and damp colours, James leans back against the seat and sighs.  
  
 _You sing behind the tall cake  
Like a deserted bride  
Who persists, demented,  
And goes through the ritual._  
  
James feels his fingers relax around the neck of the champagne bottle, falling from his loose grip to dissolve into green fragments on the floor, thinking fuzzily that something was wrong, The vague wailings of a violin in the background highlights the strange tune sliding through his head, unexpected notes stirring him awake.  
  
Peter slaps him on the back roughly, trying to make an off-colour joke, and James glances towards the bridal table, where Lily droops sadly. She is tracing the pattern in the tablecloth with one finger, the harsh artificial light glinting off the new gold. The curl has fallen from her hair, and the smile from her face.  
  
He turns back to the dance floor, predatory smile fixed in place, eyes slightly wild. There is no repenting, not now. There is no space for regrets, not in this empty hollow of a heart.  
  
The music in his head grows everfaster, more frantic as he leaps and whirls to evade the demented look in his new wife’s eyes.  
  
 _When I went to the gents  
There was a skewered heart  
And a legend of love. Let me  
Sleep on your breast to the airport._  
  
James splays his fingers across his face, and hunches into the corner of the stall, tears welling silently, clumping his lashes together. The regrets are too big for him to carry alone, and he can feel their weight pressing him into the tiled floor until he bears the patterned imprint of each tile along his spine.  
  
Muffled panting in the stall next to him sends him to his feet, tentatively pushing on the door, in time to see Remus bite at Sirius’ pale fingers interlaced across his mouth, the slick noises and quiet, gasping sighs piercing his heart, blood welling and trickling through his ribs.  
  
He can feel his cock harden in the uncomfortable suit, and he shifts his weight, awkward now that he’s a married man. He should not – cannot – will not touch Remus’ straining cock, flushed pink head showing in his unzipped fly.  
  
The feel of it in his palm, hot skin over strength, and as he squeezes it gently, Remus whimpers, the soft broken sound reminding him of what is no longer his, what he has given up.  
  
And it is at this moment, standing in a toilet stall at his own wedding reception, fingers sliding over one of his best mate’s cocks that he realises the truth, making him stumble back across the never-ending dance floor, the taste of semen and champagne flavouring his mouth.  
  
Later, he will pass out in Lily’s cleavage on the way to the airport.  
  
 _Fin._


End file.
